Deconstruction Pt.II: Reconstruction

I've been on the journey of deconstructing my faith for 6 years.

I recently realized that I am finally ready to begin the process of reconstruction, that is, putting things back together for my belief system.

As necessary as deconstruction is for a critical and maturing mind, one of my favorite spiritual leaders, Father Richard Rohr, says that reconstruction must eventually follow. If it doesn't, people can get trapped in their own cynicism. This feels very true to my experience. When I first began taking my faith apart, trying to find more room for my changing ideals, books and podcasts of the most clever skepticism and weirdest theories were huge helps to me. Questions became my new best friends and I was able to converse healthily with my own limits and doubts. I can't stress how important such resources have been for me the last several years.

Every step and season in this journey counts, and is purposeful.

But lately, those same reserves that were once so vital to me awhile back have become stale. I find myself growing tired of the constant questioning and fault finding amidst all my treasured resources for deconstruction. I feel like I know what I don’t like, what I won’t be taking with me on the journey, what I’m against. I’m ready to figure out now what I’m for.

On a recent episode of "The Bible for Normal People" about the four stages of faith (I highly recommend this entire podcast, but this one was especially good), Jared Byas says about Christians who have been deconstructing over several years,

"...they're feeling stuck, like 'Okay, I'm in this, but I want to move beyond. I do want to get to that faith after the doubt and after the cynicism."

When I heard their conversation this week, it felt so good to be understood. It's been hard to put my finger on the restlessness and longing I’ve had for a more secure belief system as of late. The podcast put it so well. I was grateful, enlightened, and felt like it was time for me to write out some of these thoughts, so here I am.

The thing is, I don't regret allowing myself to take my faith apart. I'm just a little perplexed at how to put it back together. As I said in the first part of this blog series, the next phase for belief after deconstruction is choosing what to keep and rebuild with.

Which parts stay? Which go? What do I pray when I can't sleep, when I need help, when someone I love is sick? What do I believe about God in these spaces? About prayer? About worship?
For example, I don't rely on the "promise" of a good life anymore like I used to; now I rely on the promise of God's presence throughout of life. Yet, that statement is only theoretical. What would it look like in everyday life? Ideas need fleshing out to actually become useful.
Like how to pray, how to read the Bible, how to believe.

Because I've deconstructed, nothing in my faith can really work the way it used to.

When I started this process and finally let go of all my formulas and answers, I began to explore new spaces for my faith and I often wrote using nature metaphors: the ocean, a tundra, green, rolling hills that are miles and miles long. I was reminded of how the Psalmist said that “God brought me to a wide place".

I've been stretching my legs for a long time out here, walking this "wide place" for several years now:
New ways to interpret scripture, new pictures of God to better understand the All-Powerful and Ever-Present, new perspectives, a new way to see the world, a new understanding of humanity, sin, love, loss.

I've been drinking the fresh water, climbing the trees, and swimming naked in the ocean.
I've sprinted through the dense forests, shouting joyfully at the top of my lungs.
I've trudged through the rain and the mud, splashing in all the grittiness.
I've kept company with wild ideas and animals, talking all night by firelight.
I've slept under the stars, curled up on the dusty ground.
I've learned to love this journey, this space, my aloneness, my story;
I've learned to let God and God only, shape me out here.

She mended my heart and I actually wept at the freedom I felt and the vast, overwhelming beauty of her love; a love that could never be contained in my old boxes or notions.

Still, I am human.
Still, I am a person who sometimes feels afraid, lost, cold.
I realize that I need clothes to protect my fragile skin.
I need a roof over my head.
I want a quiet, warm place that I can go to during storms, a place with strong walls, soft light, and big windows that shutter closed, safe from wind and battering waves.

I think it's time now for me to find a little piece of land out here, and build a place that I can call home.
Where God and I can go to settle down.
I need a place where I can rest.
Somewhere to hang my hat.
This is what reconstruction is to me.

"And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock."

I'm humbled and even a little amused at the idea of reconstruction because so far, it's been hard. I consider myself a far greater expert in methods of deconstruction and demolition because I've been doing it for so long.
I'm not really sure how to proceed in the re-assembly of all this.

It's kind of like that scene in The Holiday at the very end, when Cameron Diaz cries for the first time in 15 years because she realizes she loves Jude Law. Then, she gets out of her cab and runs a mile in pumps through the snowy woods to go back to him. But we're all thinking, "Great! You can still cry and you have a heart! And you want to be with Jude Law and his cute children! But he lives in London and you live in LA so how is this going to pan out...?"

I'm like poor Cameron: I still have my Christian faith and I even still believe in miracles and the name of Jesus Christ. I'm running blissfully to go find a space to build my home, dreaming of enjoying its sound protection. Those details await me upon arrival and I don't have a clue where to begin. The foundation is there, but all the details of where to start and how to build it are still very foggy and unclear.

When a task is daunting and slightly intimidating-- I think it's good to count small victories. While I don't usually list things out in my blogs, it might feel good to take stock of just how many “materials” I’ll use for my "rebuild".

Here are some things that intend to keep and utilize in my reconstructed Christian faith; maybe they will help you, too:

1. Traditions: Communion (the Eucharist), liturgy, baptism and anointing, contemplative prayer (prayer of silence) and even crossing myself (in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) have been incredibly powerful for me as I reconstruct. I love knowing that these traditions are thousands of years old, and that all of those who went before me in our faith took comfort in them, even on their darkest and most doubtful of days. They have become tangible ways for me to get a better grip on my beliefs and practice them in a reverential, sacred way.

2. Community: I count myself lucky enough to have dear friends in whose company I am loved and understood-- it pushes me out of my skepticism, out of my theorizing and heady ideas, toward and actual use of my own faith. These friends hold as many questions as I do, but still find meaning in attending church on Sunday (or a happy hour midweek), and mean it when they say they'll be praying for a sick person in my family. In the safety of this community, I've felt accepted in whatever space I find myself in. We have the freedom to explore weird ideas about our faith and joke crudely about the chips on our shoulders from jobs in the ministry, but also to have conversations that lead often us to the awe and wonder of God. Lest I live in an echo-chamber of my own circular reasoning, a community of faith is crucial to me.

3. Creativity: I've written more music on the other side of my deconstruction than I had during the 10 years I spent as a worship leader. (New EP coming soon!) Song and poetry have helped me see the traces of Christ that compel me to keep on building. Beauty is so vital to belief and reconstruction, in my opinion, because it keeps the dream and mystery alive, which brings meaning to practice and construct.

4. Scripture: Alright, who am I fooling. Frankly-- I still don't know where to put my Bible(s). I mean literally. They're stacked and hidden in this cupboard in our living room. To say nothing of when I will be reading mine again. But I do believe that the Bible is sacred, and holy, and that there is a deep well of wisdom and truth that flows from it. I know that reconstructing my relationship with it will be very tedious, like building something with a lot of tiny little annoying pieces. Maybe I'll get around to that after we get some dry wall up and some floors laid down first. But I know that somehow, the Bible is for keeping.

So there you have it: I don't know much at all. But I know that I want these four things (damn it, only four?!) to remain as pillars for me as I come out on the other side of doubt and belief: a turning point in my deconstruction. The reality of this blog, and of my spiritual life, is that I can only share from my experience. But I do so always with the aspiration that those who read this and are akin feel seen, heard, and know that they're in good company.

This reconstruction thing is very new to me, albeit flooded with light and hope. And that's what matters.